


Confidant

by lontradiction



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Diary/Journal, Epistolary, Gen, M/M, Screenplay/Script Format, cosmic horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 02:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16567871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lontradiction/pseuds/lontradiction
Summary: After having the spare tape recorder and his poetry cassettes reclaimed, Martin starts keeping a journal on his own recorder. Somehow, the spooky keeps bleeding in.





	Confidant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nelja-in-English (Nelja)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelja/gifts).



**\---PLAY ►---**

**MARTIN**

Hello. Er, this is Martin. In case you didn’t know.

[Quietly] G-d, this is stupid.

[Normally] I’m keeping an, um, diary I guess. Jon took back the recorder I was using before, which probably means he has all of my tapes too. I hope not. My poetry…

[RESIGNED SIGH]

Well, let’s hope he just records over them. That would probably be best.

So, in order to avoid this _ever_ happening again, now I have you. It took a bit of looking to find the right sound – ours really are very old – but I think this is it.

And, er, since we really don’t want the poetry escaping again, I thought leaving this entry would help with that. So, if anyone’s listening, I just want to let you know that there is NOTHING spooky on this tape. It is NOT for work. Please rewind it back to the beginning and leave it alone. Thank you!

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

**MARTIN**

Oh, and give me back my tape recorder. It’s not yours. That’s rude.

Er…

Signing off, I suppose.

**\---STOP ■ ---**

**\---FAST FORWARD ►►---**

**\---PLAY ►---**

**MARTIN**

I lost my pen at work today. I mean, I think I did. It’s certainly not in my pocket, and I wouldn’t have come to work without one… right?

I think pulling long hours in our backlog is getting to me.

**\---STOP ■ ---**

**\---FAST FORWARD ►►---**

**\---PLAY ►---**

**MARTIN**

Jon seems… troubled, lately. Ever since he found out about Gertrude, he’s been avoiding conversations with all of us. I mean, that’s not too unusual – he doesn’t talk about much outside of work – but he doesn’t usually pick one of us to tell the others what he needs. Especially not _me_.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me that makes it so that’s what scares me most. I wish I could believe that he asked me today because he trusts me, but I know that’s not it. I know it’s because Sasha left early again and Tim caught him rifling through his desk yesterday. Probably for the best that I didn’t mention that my papers keep getting reshuffled whenever I’m out on break. I do hope he stops soon, though. It’s been terrible for my workflow.

[UNEASY LAUGH]

Y’know, in the movies being in mortal peril with someone means that you’ll forge this unique bond that will persist forever. “There are some things you can’t go through without becoming friends,” or something like that. I thought maybe the worms would make things change around here; Jon would come out to drink with us or Sasha would come out of her computer room more or – or _something_. But I guess getting eaten by parasites doesn’t cause anything but revulsion after the fact.

[PAUSE]

I’m going to go make some tea.

**\---FAST FORWARD ►►---**

**\---PLAY ►---**

**MARTIN**

You’d think that a job in a library would be low-risk. That’s what I told my mother when I signed on here: good job; steady work; job security, assuming the overlook the fact that I blatantly lied on my resumé; and a low risk of injury. It’s a job about books, why does it have such a high turnover rate? Oh, I tell myself, it’s probably just that everyone else has _degrees_ and can _leave_. Sure, I tell myself, Artifact Storage has a lot of accidents and most of them end up dying two years in, but the lot of them are adrenaline junkies who work with cursed objects. That wouldn’t happen in the _Archives_ , no, they just work with people and paper; can’t be any danger from _that,_ can there?

[DEEP BREATH]

Sorry. Why am I apologizing, you’re a _machine_ – Sorry. Sorry.

I suppose I should explain somewhat. For posterity. If someone, for some reason, listens to this and wants to know. G-d knows why.

It started out a normal day. I followed up with an old witness; she hasn’t had a problem since, stays away from the open sea, the usual. Then, on the Tube to the Institute, some fight breaks out further up in the carriage and suddenly people are shouting that one of them has a knife, even though the man clearly doesn’t have anything in his hand, and then at the next stop they tackle each other out onto the platform, can you _imagine_ , and a full half of the train follows them like it’s some kind of spectator sport! Thenthe police close down the platform and pull the _rest_ of us off the train for statements and the fight club or whoever they were are all _still_ yelling.

Needless to say, this made me late coming in, so I get a bit of a stinkeye from Rosie as I pass the tech desk. Fine. I can deal with that. Nothing I haven’t handled before. But then I come downstairs and Jon’s bleeding all over the break room because he’s got a hole straight through his hand and is trying to cover it with _plasters_ ; I don’t even know why he would think that had _any_ chance of working; so I bandage it enough to stop the bleeding and he tries to _go back to work_! I had to get Elias to send him to a doctor before he’d even put down his pen! I think he took some statement copies with him, but at least that _might_ not open his hand back up. Might.

After all that drama, we don’t have the Archivist in-house to take statements, so _I_ interview the man who comes in instead.

I never could figure out why the interview room has a panic button. I guess now I know.

And all this is _without_ being invaded by an army of parasite worms or otherwise infectious agent. Bloody hell. I could catch smallpox here and all I’d wonder is who failed to boil the complimentary coffee at a sanitary temperature. I don’t know if Tim’s better off or just less obvious about various attempts on his life or bodily integrity.

[PAUSE]

I’m not getting used to this. I’m not. I _refuse_ to get used to this. This isn’t normal. It shouldn’t _be_ normal.

But it doesn’t phase me as much as it should.

I try to remember who I was before the worms, but I can’t. All of that… naiveté or whatever… it’s gone. It’s not coming back. I doubt I’ll remember who I am now once the next big disaster comes, either.

That’s the worst part, I think. Expecting something to happen. _Knowing_ something will happen. Knowing that I won’t be myself afterwards. I’ll never be myself again. But I am Martin. I can be Martin. And eventually, Martin will be me.

For now, all I can do is remind myself that I work with people and paper. That the Archives are disorganized and we’re sorting it back out. That there are plenty of statements that have nothing to follow up on because no one ever really got hurt. We’re learning more every day, and sometimes it’s enough to save lives. So if ours are in danger sometimes–

No. It’s not worth it for that. But we’re in too deep to stop now. I’m in too deep to stop.

I need to know how far this goes.

[PAUSE]

I probably also need to finish filling out these incident reports. That’s enough for now, really.

**\---STOP ■ ---**

**\---FAST FORWARD ►►---**

**\---PLAY ►---**

**MARTIN**

Basira was back again today. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned here on here before. She’s… nice. Pretty. Certainly intelligent, carries herself with confidence.

Everything I’m not; let’s leave it at that.

Tim has been dropping hints to anyone who will listen that she and Jon are… And it makes sense! She’s a catch!

Probably. I never can tell with women.

And it’s not like I didn’t notice that Jon likes women. Sasha heard from this podcaster who knew this ghost hunter who knew about him and Georgie Barker. But he’s not exactly the type to shack up with a stranger. At least, I thought he wasn’t.

Ha. Shows what I know.

This is stupid. I’m being petty. There’s no reason to be like this. None at all. It’s not like I have any _claim_ on Jon; he’s an adult man who can date whoever he wants, and even if someone could have any kind of say, it certainly wouldn’t be me. He barely looks at me anyway, so it’s not like that’s going to change any time soon. Nothing _has_ changed. Basira’s a perfectly nice woman who comes and talks to him in his office. Alone. And won’t say anything to anyone about it.

I hate her.

**\---STOP ■ ---**

**\---REWIND◄◄---**

**\---FAST FORWARD ►►---**

**\---PLAY ►---**

**MARTIN**

Jon’s sleeping worse than ever. He hasn’t said anything about it, but he doesn’t have to. It’s written in his eyes. He barely even blinks. Probably scared of falling asleep if he does.

Though that might just be me projecting.

It’s difficult to tell if he’s getting more paranoid or if the jitters are just from lack of sleep and surfeit of caffeine. It can’t be withdrawal – he’s stunk of smoke for a week. Not as severe about ignition sources when they’re his, I guess.

I’m worried. Not just for him – there’s so few of us that any worn cog stops up the whole machine. Tim’s constantly on edge and has snapped at me for setting something down three times in the past two days. I haven’t even seen Sasha once during that time. But me – I’m just worried. Though I have been drinking an awful lot of tea lately, I suppose.

Tim says Jon’s lost it. That the worms fried his brain and he takes it out on the rest of us. I can’t necessarily disprove his assessment, but I don’t think that’s it. I can’t blame him for freaking out after his predecessor was found dead. Murdered, even. Jane and her worms are dead and dusted out, but that’s not going away.

I never knew Gertrude Robinson. It’s not that I never met her. She was upstairs often and didn’t hide from outsiders in her office. At least not at the _first_ sign they were coming. But we never really spoke past a few words. She seemed… strict? But kind as well. A matronly sort of person. I miss that, even if I can’t exactly miss _her_.

I heard about the Archives, though. People were always whispering about how they hadn’t seen one of the assistants lately. Thinking back, I don’t remember if there even were any assistants on staff when she went mis- when she died. They always left without notice. So-and-so went on a business trip and never came back, things like that. Did they “go missing,” too? Did Gertrude outlive them all? Is there anyone left to mourn her?

I hope so. I don’t want to think about the alternative. There aren’t many people left to mourn me either.

But this entry wasn’t supposed to be about me. It’s about Jon. I’m trying to think of ways I can help him, but he doesn’t respond to most of them. Just sort of glares at me. So I guess those aren’t it.

He does seem to drink the tea I brew for him, at least. Which is good, since he hasn’t been drinking anything else. If I could just find a biscuit or sandwich to go with…

I know Tim doesn’t exactly approve of the way I try to help him. I know Tim’s feeling isolated and lashing out for it. But Tim is eating. Tim goes home at the end of the night. Jon doesn’t. So it doesn’t matter what Tim says. No matter how often he says it. I’m still going to help Jon.

I just hope he lets me.

**\---STOP ■ ---**

**\---REWIND◄◄---**

**\---PLAY ►---**

**MARTIN**

Mom’s doing worse than ever. The nurses tell me she’s happy there, and I believe them, I do, but…

When I came in, she hated me. This glare spread over her face and she snarled. I tried to tell her it was me, but she just kept yelling at me to get out, that she hoped I’d fall into a sulphur spring at whatever park I’d skipped town to and spend the last eternity burning. That she’d never forgive me for abandoning her with “your bloody worthless brat.”

I suppose, strictly speaking, that is an improvement. Last time, she didn’t even remember she had a child. So… her memory had a good day, I suppose.

I wonder if she’ll stop replying to my letters. At least those don’t have my face on them. It’s clear enough that going in person is no longer an option.

It can’t be helped. Her mind just doesn’t have the circuits to recognise me anymore. I just hope I didn’t ruin her birthday.

**\---STOP ■ ---**

**\---FAST FORWARD ►►---**

**\---PLAY ►---**

**MARTIN**

I – I don’t even know what to say anymore. I can’t – I can’t even _think._ I don’t understand. Is this how Tim’s been feeling all along?

He –

Jon –

He accused me of lying about a murder. About Gertrude’s murder. I don’t – Why would he think that? Where did he even get the idea? What reason would I have for that? How would I have killed her? I don’t own a gun. I don’t even know how to fire a gun. How could –

How could he think so little of me?

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I could say it if I did. I just… don’t know. The only thing I know is that I’ve never felt this… _wracked_ before. You can back that up with this tape.

But you already know that, don’t you? You know. You _know_.

I –

I have nothing left to say.

**\---STOP ■ ---**

**\---FAST FORWARD ►►---**

**\---PLAY ►---**

**MARTIN**

I don’t know when Tim became the only Archives employee I talk to. I don’t mind talking to him, obviously. Or at least I don’t when he’s not cursing out Jon and thus me by extension. That’s not great. I know Jon’s been… _invasive_ , lately, but the intervention really does seem to have helped. Whether that’s because we got through to him or just because he has the footage to snoop through, who knows, but he _is_ better. And yet Tim just seems to be getting worse.

He keeps saying that he wishes he was anywhere but here, that he never wants to come back to the Institute in the morning. I’d thought about asking him if he was quitting before, but some people are just like that. I thought he’d figure things out and things would smooth out one way or another, but he’s been getting more and more erratic. He told me yesterday that he wants to leave, but he can’t quit because “the Archives are a clingy stack of spooooky knock-off Hammer Horror.” Back when I worked upstairs, I would have thought that was a joke. Well, it is a joke, I guess, given the sarcasm, but he wasn’t joking about being unable to quit. Or be fired, according to the notes on Jon’s desk. Not that I was looking for them! There’s just not much room for tea right now, at least not without hurting the statements.

I’d never thought about quitting before. No matter how dangerous it gets, the idea of leaving just seems… wrong. Knowing that I can’t, though, makes the Archives feel like a trap. Everything’s drawn in and chained down. I would have thought that’d be Artefact Storage’s thing, but we’re just full of surprises.

Still. I’m not leaving. Not even if I could.

Jon’s here, after all.

And I still have so much left to know.

**\--- STOP ■ ---**

**\---FAST FORWARD ►►---**

**\---PLAY ►---**

**MARTIN**

A lot has happened. I would say “today,” but clocks don’t measure time spent in creepy dream worlds. I’ve always wondered what it felt like, to lose time trapped in a place that doesn’t exist and come back to a world that hasn’t moved to match it. I can’t say that it hasn’t changed, though, because everything has. Everything is crashing together and none of it makes sense. I don’t think I can explain it, not really, But that’s not what you’re for, is it? Much as I try to give you some context, right now I just need someone to listen. Okay?

[PAUSE]

Okay.

Jon – I thought things were getting better. He’d been more determined, like he’d finally found something to follow up on that wasn’t scrutinizing us for something that wasn’t there. But maybe he just made a decision. I didn’t think…

Jon, I don’t know what you’ve done. Everything points to you being – responsible for that old man. But I don’t think you are. Maybe that’s just me, being biased as usual. I know plenty of people who would say it is, but I don’t think so. You just – didn’t sound like a murderer, when you left. Nothing like that. You sounded like –

Like –

Like you were going out to die.

I don’t think you meant it to sound like that; you’re not the sort to broadcast your intentions like that. But I know what getting your affairs in order sounds like. G-d knows I’ve heard it enough times between Mum and hospitals. What did you think you were going to die of?

Not yourself, I hope. That’s something I’ll admit bias on. I don’t know what you were expecting, though. Did you find something? Was someone – some _thing_ – hunting you? Was that man your enemy? Most things don’t look human after they die, but the world is wide and we have so many statements left to read.

Sasha – I don’t know where she’s gone to either. I can’t think of how she would have survived whatever was happening today, but then again, I don’t know what _was_ happening, so maybe we missed something while we were in the corridors. At least Jon has an understandable reason, even if running off probably didn’t help his case. Sasha’s a black box as far as that’s concerned. That’s what happens when you barely speak to your friends for months, I suppose.

Tim’s convinced she’s dead. He doesn’t let himself think anyone else. I think there might have been something I didn’t know about there, but Tim isn’t exactly willing to talk about it. He has the right to that, of course. It does mean that I have no way to help him with his grief, but that’s clearly the intent. And it’s none of my business anyway. I don’t –

I need to get out of here. Not – not out like _out_ out, but being inside the Archives clearly isn’t going to help. I need to do something, _anything_ to do other than obsess over who may or may not be murdered and/or a murderer. There’s nothing there that’s comprehensible or helpful or _controllable_ , I can’t _change_ anything because it’s all over and done and _shut up Martin_ , you’re a miserable busybody and even if you _could_ help no one _wants_ you to. You weren’t there. Again.

Is that why you don’t trust me, Jon? Because I’m useless. I guess there’s no reason to say anything to someone who can’t help anyway. But I would have _tried_ , Jon, I would have tried to help if I could, if I even knew what you’re chasing. I know you suspected everyone of helping to cover up Gertrude’s murder, but I thought I…

Well, that’s my bias talking, I guess.

I don’t know why I’m addressing this to Jon as if he’s listening. I hope he isn’t, this tape is – Well, I hope he doesn’t listen to this. But I miss him, and I guess this is a way to talk to him? Even though he’s missing.

Yeah. Missing.

Sasha…

This is a sorry state for the Archives to be in. Our Archivist is gone and the rest of us are falling apart. Myself, obviously, included. But Elias talks like everything’s just going to go back to business as usual, and it _can’t_. I’m not even letting it sink in and _I_ know that. Everything’s _fucked._

So where does that leave me?

There’s one thing I’m certain about: Jon didn’t kill them. No matter how much evidence points to him, he didn’t do it. And, no matter what else happened, he didn’t intend to either. That’s important. If I can find answers to any of these questions, they’ll start there. And if Jon has to stay away until we can prove he’s innocent, then I hope he does. I just want him to come back _safe_.

Heh. Bias.

But there’s something I haven’t even gotten into yet. Who is _Michael_? Why did Jon keep him from us? When had they met before? Why did he trap Tim and I in the corridors and then let us go? Because I know we didn’t just find our way out. That doesn’t _happen._ So why let us go? What did he want us to miss? Or did he just do both on a whim?

Ancient fae did that. Just took people for fun and dumped them back when they were done. Who knows. But it’s scarier to think that it had no real purpose at all.

Maybe that’s what Jon was worried about. Getting taken and not coming back. It’s certainly something like death.

But that doesn’t quite make sense either. They seemed to be… familiar? From what he said. And Jon didn’t call out or anything. Though Michael was talking about watching the Archivist die as a sport, so who knows. Maybe it’s better to just ignore him until he shows up again. I don’t like it, but there you are. You can’t know what something really _is_ if it keeps changing itself, not really. And as much as we were getting turned around in there on our own, I _know_ the corridors themselves were changing on us. To knowsomething like that, you have to know that you _don’t_ know it.

That’s how I see it based on what we’ve learned so far, anyway. For all I know, someone’s mapped out all the corridors. If they have, hats off to them; they’ve clearly got a lot more knowledge than we do and can actually apply it. Cartography is hard enough without non-Euclidean planes.

Did you know that every map of the world is inherently wrong? Or distorted, at least. You can’t map three dimensions in two without some twisting. That’s what it feels like, the corridors. Mirrors don’t reflect, walls aren’t solid, and doors don’t always do you the favour of existing. I can’t imagine how that woman feels.

G-d, that woman. We only saw her for a couple seconds, but she looked like she’d been in there for _years_. I don’t – I can’t explain what she seemed to be. She was _human_ , she didn’t have the hands, but she was sort of fuzzy around the edges. Everything else was clear, but she seemed only half-there.

I know we couldn’t have got to her. It’s a miracle we _saw_ her – I got the impression there was an awful lot more to that place than we ever saw. But we didn’t even _try_. Tim just kept walking, and it’s not like I could _leave_ him and get us separated as well as lost, but we _left_ her. We left her, we lost Sasha, and either of us could have walked away from Jon. We just _left_.

What have I become?

When I was a child, I thought I’d be a hero when I grew up. Or at least a fine, upstanding gentleman; I wasn’t exactly _strong_ or _violent_ enough to be your traditional hero; but I knew right from wrong and I followed the rules to the letter. I spoke up when people were treated unfairly and helped them out when they were in trouble. When I had to start helping Mum around the house or with remembering to put the milk back in the fridge, that felt heroic too in its own way. But Mum got worse, so I had to spend all the time I had at home to take care of her and I couldn’t help my friends out, so they stopped talking to me. Mum was angry all the time because she kept losing things at work. When she lost her job over it and couldn’t get any public support, I stepped up to make enough money to keep us both warm and fed. And that was grown-up, and satisfying, and wasn’t I a _selfless_ son, never minding any loss or trouble as long as I could _help_. I was her own, private hero.

But she hates me. She hates me and I _lied_ for her, I’m _still_ lying, everything that brought me here is a bloody _lie_ , and I’ve never let myself resent it like this. I’ve never let myself think about what might have been if I’d been able to finish school. Maybe if I’d stayed, I wouldn’t be standing here, knowing that I can leave a woman to _die_ , or _worse_ , and feel nothing but _this_. I’m no kind of hero. I’m not even good. I’m just a survivor who patches up anything else that manages to make it out.

Hopefully there’s something _left_ to patch up. I could use a chance to _fix_ something instead of just watch it break.

**\--- STOP ■ ---**

**\---FAST FORWARD ►►---**

**\---PLAY ►---**

**MARTIN**

So. Erm. Daisy’s been – around a lot, lately. I-I don’t know what to do about that. She – she scares me. I know, I know, Martin Blackwood scared, stop the presses, but she’s something else. I haven’t felt like that since…

Since Prentiss.

But she’s human, isn’t she? [Nervous laughter] Sh-she’s with the police.

Not that it seems to mean anything as far as her being willing to kill us goes. Because of course we needed another way basic law and order breaks down around us. We just didn’t have enough of those already.

Either way, she’s certainly not our ally. She said they haven’t found anything indicating Sasha’s dead, which is good news, but I get the feeling finding her isn’t high on the to-do list. Whatever she’s planning for Jon is, and it doesn’t sound like anything good. If she finds him…

I can’t let that happen. Even if I miss Jon, even if it felt good to be called close to him, I can’t do anything that would lead her to him. I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t know where he is, which stings a bit, but that’s the best defence I can offer him. If I don’t know where he is, then I can’t expose him. So I won’t try to track him down. I’ll just find out what I can here and keep the Archives standing while he’s gone.

Just… please let him come back safe. Because Daisy certainly won’t. Bring them both home.

[PAUSE]

Jon and I, close… Maybe someday.

**\--- STOP ■ ---**

**\---FAST FORWARD ►►---**

**\---PLAY ►---**

[ALL AUDIO MUFFLED THROUGH CLOTH]

**ELIAS**

Thank you for coming to see me, Martin.

**MARTIN**

Of course; I’m just sorry to have kept you waiting. W-what did you need to speak with me about?

**ELIAS**

Right. As you’ve seen, Jon’s absence has led to an… interruption in the effort to reorganize the Archives. We don’t currently know when he’ll return, so in the meantime, I’ll need some help from the rest of you to keep the project up.

**MARTIN**

You’re sure he’ll be coming back as well?

**ELIAS**

We both know he will. Much as the police wish to pin the crime on him, I somehow doubt they’ll be able to produce evidence for that argument.

**MARTIN**

…Do you –

**ELIAS**

That isn’t important right now, Martin.

**MARTIN**

Right.

**ELIAS**

I just need someone to help read and refile the statements in order. I… talked to Tim, but he’s disinclined to assist. He should come around, but for the moment, I ask that you take over the statements in Jon’s place. Can I rely on you for this?

**MARTIN**

I – Yes. Yes, I’ll do it.

**ELIAS**

Good. That’s all I had to talk to you about today; I’ll let you get back to work.

**MARTIN**

Th-thank you.

[FOOTSTEPS]

[DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES]

[RUSTLING]

Wait…

[AUDIO UNMUFFLES]

How long have you been running for? That’s not good for your battery or recording life. Let me just –

**\--- AUTO-STOP ---**

**\--- EJECT ---**

**\--- INSERT SIDE B ---**

**\---PLAY ►---**

**MARTIN**

Well, that was humiliating. I, uh – I haven’t recorded in a while, I know, it’s just that I’ve been around so many other recorders that it feels like –

Anyway.

I-I met Basira today. Properly. Sh-she came in today. Not to _do_ _anything_ with _Jon_ , **Tim** , just to, I don’t know, find out if her ex-partner was still stalking us. Which, thankfully, she’s not. She’s still looking for Jon, and based on Basira’s expression, I think it’s for even worse reasons than I’d expected. Basira seems to be planning to stop her, so I _guess_ I have to thank her for that.

I still don’t like her, though.

[DEEP INHALATION]

I – I was reading a statement earlier. Another Leitner. To hear people – falling into these, it’s – it’s not exactly pleasant. It keeps running through my head, **dig** ging into my brain, and I can’t get it out, I can’t **dig** deep enough for it to go away. At least last time, I only had the breath pulled from me. It didn’t feel like I was **dig** ging my own grave, falling into the earth…

I can’t – I shouldn’t talk about that anymore, I think. Reading the statements… it’s an experience. They feel _alive_ , and I – I feel like them? But it’s okay. I’m going to make myself a cup of hot cocoa, and it’s going to be alright. I hope.

Melanie hasn’t mentioned what it was like for her, reading. I can’t help but feel responsible for her being trapped with us. If I’d said something, if I’d told her what we experience here, but it felt like all of those words were sliding away. I could try to talk Elias out of it, but…

I’m not sure the Archives will let us stop people from signing up here. We can try, but we can’t tell them _why_ they shouldn’t; the most we can tell them is _that_ they shouldn’t. Maybe it’s my imagination. I hope so. I don’t want – I don’t want anyone who has the ability to leave to throw it away without _knowing_.

Would I have taken the job if I’d known? I’d like to say no, but I really couldn’t afford to turn it down. And… the stacks here call to me. It’s getting louder all the time. Even when everything gets pulled out of me, it feels like the only way I can find it again is to come back. I – I want to come back. And I don’t think it’s for Jon anymore.

I’m trying not to think about it. There’s no need to **dig** into something that won’t help.

[PAUSE]

I want to talk more. I don’t know what about. But… I don’t want to turn you off. I –

Well, you can’t stop me from talking about spiders, right? You have to –

[CLICK]

**\--- STOP ■ ---**

**\---FAST FORWARD ►►---**

**\---PLAY ►---**

**MARTIN**

So. My boss is a murderer.

At least it’s not Jon. Not that I ever believed he was, but it’s a – well, not a relief, _exactly_ , but it’s less horrible than it could have been. It’s just Elias.

_G-d, it’s Elias._

And through this all, we still can’t leave. And we can’t kill **him** , because it will kill all of us! Of course! So we’ll be working under a murderer, like nothing’s happened. Business as usual. [Hysterical] I guess it is! No matter what happens, we just keep going! Nothing changes, even if people die!

[QUIET SOB, OR POSSIBLY LAUGH]

It’s the first time I’ve seen Jon in – in so long, and it’s _this_. We don’t even get to say hello, because _Elias_ just has to drag him off for some _alone time_! Who knows what they’re talking about. I mean, it’s Jon, so it’s obviously not – but it’s also _Elias_ , and apparently I can’t trust him about anything anymore, so who knows!

Wow, Martin. _This_ is what you consider important. Sure, your boss is a murderer, but he also took Jon away for a conversation! What a _hideous_ crime.

Then again, he apparently finds Jon’s… _powers_ pleasant. _Tingly._ Hmph. The walls aren’t as thick as you’d think.

_Tingly._

…Has Jon used them on me? Without my knowing? Have I answered any of his questions without wanting to?

I – I don’t think so. I think I answered them willingly. Even when I was reluctant about it. Even about, about my mum. But I don’t know.

[PAUSE]

Do they really feel… tingly?

_Oh my G-d, stop._

**\---STOP ■ ---**

**\---REWIND◄◄---**

**\---PLAY►---**

[HURDY-GURDY MUSIC AMID SOUNDS OF STREET]

**MARTIN**

[Hushed] I know it’s odd to bring you out in public like this, but it’s nice to have something to put on here other than just my voice. There’s a street musician outside my station, so I’m taking a minute to listen. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard this instrument, but the song…

[SONG ENDS]

[MURMUR OF DISPERSING CROWD]

[RUSTLING, FOLLOWED BY MUFFLED SOUNDS]

**MUSICIAN**

Ah, thank you, young man.

**MARTIN**

Of course, ma’ am! If I’m listening to your music, shouldn’t I pay you for it?

**MUSICIAN**

If only all audiences felt the same way.

**MARTIN**

May I ask what song that was?

**MUSICIAN**

It’s an original composition, though my bees are more the composers than I.

**MARTIN**

Oh, are you a beekeeper?

**MUSICIAN**

Something like that.

[LAUGHTER]

Do you keep anything? You seem the type, somehow.

**MARTIN**

Er, no, not really. I thought about keeping a spider for a while, though.

**MUSICIAN**

A spider? Really?

**MARTIN**

Yeah, my boss feels about the same way. I try to talk him into at least setting the wild ones free outside, but sometimes I think he won’t be satisfied until he’s killed every spider in the Magnus Institute.

**MUSICIAN**

The Magnus Institute – I see.

[HURRIED SOUNDS OF PACKING UP]

It was pleasant speaking to you, little Eye, but I must take my leave. I’m sure you understand why.

**MARTIN**

Oh no, I’m sorry. Was it something I said? Oh G-d, it probably was.

**MUSICIAN**

Hush. I know your kind. I have no desire to become one of your exhibits.

**MARTIN**

What? I -

**MUSICIAN**

**__**_Goodbye_ , Watcher, and may our paths never cross again.

**MARTIN**

But –

She’s gone.

[PAUSE]

_What?!_

**\--- STOP ■ ---**

**\---FAST FORWARD ►►---**

**\---PLAY ►---**

[DEEP, SHAKING SIGH]

**MARTIN**

I… I just…

The statements. They’re. I’m so tired, but the words are written behind my eyes and I can’t sleep. I laid down in the Archives room, but it just echoed against the walls, inside my mind. I can’t – not like this. I’m going to talk to Elias. But I – I needed you. I needed to say something. First. I-I don’t know why. But… stay on? Please?

[KNOCK ON DOOR]

Elias?

**ELIAS**

[Muffled] Come in.

[DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES]

[FOOTSTEPS]

Take a seat. It’ll be easier for you, in your state.

**MARTIN**

Th-Thank you.

[SCRAPE OF WOOD ON THE FLOOR]

Elias, I –

**ELIAS**

Yes, I’m aware. Reading statements can be taxing, especially on those unused to doing so. Given your diligence and pace, I’m sure that’s taking its toll on your health.

**MARTIN**

It – It is.

**ELIAS**

I appreciate your continuing the process despite that, of course.

**MARTIN**

That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I kept recording after – after Jon’s return, since I’d made such a habit of it. But with him back, it doesn’t seem like there’s as much of a need for that, since he’s keeping up with it and all, so… could I, uh, stop? Recording?

**ELIAS**

[Sigh] Unfortunately, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Jon’s recording progress is erratic, too inconsistent to maintain our records. We still need assistant support to keep up and, given Tim’s reluctance and the others’ inexperience, that falls to you.

**MARTIN**

O-Oh. I see.

**ELIAS**

I know this must be difficult for you to hear. I do recommend that you try to convince Tim to carry his part of the load, though he’s unlikely to listen.

**MARTIN**

Yes.

**ELIAS**

I would also suggest that you try to pace yourself a little more. Allow yourself some time to recover between the statements. Stacking them in the same day will only make it worse afterwards.

**MARTIN**

Y-yes.

**ELIAS**

Of course, if you feel the need to record them before you expect to, I certainly won’t complain. I ask only that you take care of yourself.

**MARTIN**

Okay.

**ELIAS**

I think we’ve finished this for now. Unless there’s something else?

**MARTIN**

No – no, I don’t think there is.

**ELIAS**

Then we’d best both get back to work. Thank you for coming to speak with me. I think we understand each other better now.

**MARTIN**

Of course.

[SCRAPE OF CHAIR ON FLOOR]

[FOOTSTEPS]

[DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES]

[SHAKY BREATH]

**MARTIN**

Fuck.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

**MARTIN**

I never really thought about what brought the rest of the employees here. I don’t know what I would have expected, but it wasn’t…

Oh, _Tim._

To lose your brother like that… I’m an only child, so I could only imagine.

But I _felt_ – these little bits and flashes, here and there – like when I’m reading. Not the same way, not the way I almost live those again. I could – I could see the clown. Not everything, not the dancer, but I _saw the clown_.

And I’m scared. If I could see it –

But I don’t feel tired. It didn’t take anything away from me. All I felt was sympathy. I Knew, but it didn’t – I don’t – I –

I’m scared. I’m so scared. Because what I feel right now –

I feel _strong._ I feel _sated_. I feel – I feel…

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

**MARTIN**

I – I don’t know why I’m talking to you. I shouldn’t be talking to you, I _shouldn’t_ , but I want – _need_ to. I don’t know what’s happening to me anymore. The statements don’t drain me anymore. It’s – it’s easier.

Not just that. It’s _easy_. After I finish, I shake off the adrenaline and I’m _fine_.

What are you doing to me?

I – I keep having nightmares. Every night. I see that clown, stalking Tim, just around the edges of his vision. Lights dancing over him to hide his presence. Lights under Tim’s skin. And I follow, I follow him, but I don’t say anything, and over it all there’s tape rolling and I can’t turn it off. I keep thinking Elias did something, put _something_ in my brain, but he hasn’t – he hasn’t said anything. And I – I Know it isn’t him. I don’t know why, or how I know, but I Know. Just like I know where Jon put all of the statements he recorded, can pick them out of the files without even looking.

I – I can find new statements too. Statements that no one has read yet. And it’s _so hard_ to put them back. They’re just – they’re there. I’m not recording them. I haven’t recorded any in - but they –

What’s happening to me?

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

**MARTIN**

The plan… is set. The trap is ready. They’re all traveling right now, and I’m getting ready to help.

I left a message for Jon. He asked for them, after all. But those feelings – they aren’t the only ones I’m feeling right now.

Jon – he’s going to the Unknowing. And I want to believe he’s going to come back safe. But the odds of him coming out completely unscathed… They’re significantly lower than I’d like.

What happens if he doesn’t come back? Other than expense reports not getting filed?

With any luck, Elias will be – he’ll be gone. But the Institute won’t. The Archives won’t. Someone’s going to have to take over. And I – I’m probably the best choice to take over the Archivist position. If they don’t move someone over from another department.’

I don’t want this. I never wanted this. Every step I take is another step into this _pit_ I can’t escape from. If Jon doesn’t come back and I have to take over…

Please, G-d, let Jon come back safe. I can’t – I don’t think I can do this, _be_ this, without him.

[PAUSE]

Ceaseless Watcher. Bring him back safe.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

**MARTIN**

[Ragged, suppressed] It’s over. I did it. It’s done. It worked, it worked, but I still –

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

**MARTIN**

No, please listen –

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

**MARTIN**

[On the edge of tears] _Please –_

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

[EXTENDED, INTERMITTENT SOBS FROM FAR AWAY]

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

**MARTIN**

We’re back. It’s… It’s business as usual. Peter’s been – he’s been a good boss. Helpful but hands-off. Understanding when we need to leave early. W-We just go through the statements. Record them. Attach the evidence from follow-ups. File again. It’s – it’s all just the normal routine.

We haven’t gotten many live statements. Most people who come just want to write them down. I think they find us unsettling, or maybe just awkward. Melanie and Basira take the others. Those ones have just been – incoherent. They can’t give any details. They discredit themselves. They won’t say anything. Any of those. All. It’s useless.

But.

Today I took my first live statement since – since the Unknowing. It was about spiders. I wish I could be surprised by that. But they knew everything. The date and time they saw the zoo’s megaweb. Exactly what it said. They described it so thoroughly, so eloquently. And I saw it.

[PAUSE]

Are you impressed with that too, Elias?

[PAUSE]

Tim – Tim disappeared from my dreams after the Unknowing. I thought maybe my subconscious had just stopped thinking of Grimaldi as a threat. But that wasn’t it, was it? It was that he was – he was gone.

I’m going to dream about spiders tonight.

I’m so sorry.

[CLICK]

[EXTENDED SOUND OF TAPE ROLLING. NO OTHER AUDIO.]

**\--- STOP ■ ---**


End file.
